Milbers said, “I’d like to employ you. I don’t know what your rates are.”
“It depends on the nature of the job and the amount of money involved.” Her eyes were showing keen interest now.
“You won’t mind,” Milbers asked, “if I take the time to tell you the story from the beginning?”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, my cousin Harlow was rather eccentric.”
“I gathered as much.”
“He was very much of an individual. He wanted to live his own life in his own way. He didn’t want to be dictated to or dominated. His attitude toward his relatives was always rather — shall we say coloured — by that attitude.”
Christopher Milbers raised his hands, opened the fingers far apart, and placed the tips together, pointed upward toward his chin. He looked at Bertha Cool over the upturned fingertips as though pathetically anxious to make certain she got exactly the point he was trying to make.
“Married?” Bertha Cool asked.
“His wife died ten years ago.”